listen to me, for i am your friend
by Cahaya Sidur
Summary: Ever since Henry was young, the sea always called out to him. He would spend endless days in the dark murky depths, often running home smelling of seawater, and could pass several hours exploring the waves of the sea, the navy blue stillness, the black inky depths, the white froths of the waves.


Disclaimer: I do not own Pirates of the Caribbean.

* * *

Ever since Henry was young, the sea always called out to him. He would spend endless days in the dark murky depths, often running home smelling of seawater, and could pass several hours exploring the waves of the sea, the navy blue stillness, the black inky depths, the white froths of the waves. His mother taught him the basics of how to swim, and he would continue to teach himself to swim, learning to lean _just_ so when the waves took an unexpected turn, or to use his left arm more than his right when a wave approached from a certain direction.

Instead of playing with wooden swords and rocking horses, he would scour over hundreds of ancient maps that he would get from the library, reading up on any myths and legends the sea had to offer. He'd somehow taught himself how to read a compass, recounting the many historic battles between Navy and pirate - his favourite being Captain Jack Sparrow - and the routes that so many traders had taken and lost their lives in.

Every dinner time, instead of talking about the games he played or the friends he made, he would talk endlessly about the seas and its stories.

Yes, William Henry Turner loved the sea.

His mother constantly worried ever since he was a child. He showed no interest in playing or even getting along with the other children, instead running through the waves with a shriek of laughter. Yes, she herself had loved the tales of pirates, but her son's obsession with the sea eclipsed even hers. Elizabeth always watched her little boy with worry, the little boy who looked so much like Will but had her smile, who loved the sea as much as they did, and who loved the idea of pirating as much as they did as well.

The latter often worried her.

When little William Turner turned seven - that precious age where he was starting to insist being called 'Henry' instead of William - he had run up to the fishermen in the village, with his mother laughing behind him. His love of the ocean was well-known in the quaint town they found themselves in, and the fisherman humoured him with great delight, answering his rapid-fire questions with surprising ease. The other children stuck up their noses at him and went to play soldiers with fake wooden swords and fancy coats that swirled behind them.

That day, he looked up at fisherman Tinker and told him, with all the seriousness he could muster, to go further out at sea but return an hour earlier than he usually did. Tinker laughed, but didn't follow.

When he returned that evening, it was to Henry's disappointed look and a net with few fish.

The next day, Henry went up to fisherman Bill and told him not to go as far out as he usually did, but to return three hours later.

Bill laughed then, but he didn't return that night. His fishing boat was found, drifting aimlessly at a cove nearby.

Henry eyed it with a dark look while his mother grew more concerned with her son's supposed premonitions. The whispers from the fishermen spread to the village, and Elizabeth started going to the market alone.

Again, Henry tried with fisherman Tinker, who was starting to look a little worried himself at his near-empty net. He told the man to stay further in the tide and to go home an hour early. This time, Tinker listened.

He returned home that night.

The other nine fishermen in their other boats who had gone out too far or returned an hour too late never made it home.

Elizabeth covered her little boy's ears as they walked hand-in-hand to the market to get more maps and books about pirates. She frowned at anyone who looked at them wrong, and scowled at those who whispered and spat out nasty names intended for her son. Henry didn't seem to notice,

* * *

By the time Henry was nine, Elizabeth figured that there was something strange about her beloved little boy, and had sat him down after dinner instead of letting him have his usual two hours out at sea before the sun set.

"What is it, mama?" Henry asked, fidgeting in his seat as his gaze continuously strayed to the window, where the sound of crashing waves was audible even through the closed door.

"Henry," Elizabeth said patiently, waiting for her son to focus on her, "why did you tell Tinker to come back early and not to go as far out?"

Henry shrugged, only half-listening.

"Henry." Elizabeth repeated, firmer.

Henry's eyes snapped to her, the same warm colour Will's was. _Is_. "Because the sea said so."

Elizabeth frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The storm was going to hit that night. He could go further out, but there wasn't much fish to share with the other fishermen anyway. He's better off staying in the shallower waters." Henry answered, still fidgeting impatiently.

Elizabeth's frown deepened. "How did you know that?"

Henry sighed, sounding increasingly put-out.

"Henry." The tone bordered on scolding.

"The sea told me, mama."

"The sea?" Elizabeth asked, trying her best to keep her disbelief out of her tone. "The sea told you?"

"Yes, mama." Henry answered, eyes straying to the window once again.

"Henry, focus when I talk to you."

Henry immediately turned back to her, eyes downcast. "Sorry, mama."

"Now, you mean the sea speaks to you?" Elizabeth clarified.

Henry nodded. "Yes, mama." He frowned, looking adorably confused. "Can't you hear it?"

Elizabeth looked at her little boy, the same boy who loved the ocean so much that he could spend endless hours exploring it, the same boy who had once spent a whole night away and given her a damn near heart attack but had returned the next day, bright and chipper, talking to the waves as he walked on the beach, in knee-deep seawater.

The same boy who spent his days pouring over maps and compasses, legends of pirates and myths alike, all in the same quest to find and break his missing father's curse.

As she watched his earnest expression, she felt her shoulders tense. Elizabeth knew as well as anyone, being a former Pirate King, that the ocean was one thing she could never bear to take away from her son, who loved it with every bit of his tender heart. When men found out what her son could do, they would no doubt try to exploit it, or, at the very least, report it to some form of authorities.

They would take him away. Lock him up, stand trial, maybe even execution.

And, as Elizabeth smiled and finally allowed him to run for the sea he loved so much, she made plans in her head. They couldn't move - Henry would never settle for a house so far away from the sea - so she'd go to the market that was two miles further away than the village but quieter. She would find a new bookshop to bring Henry too, one further inland so that no rumours can spread, so that Henry wouldn't be able to talk about the sea with anyone there.

She would not let anyone take her little boy away. _No one_ would lay a finger on him.

* * *

When William Henry Turner was ten, his father came ashore for the first time.

The ocean told him. He had eagerly told his mother, whose eyes lit up even with the discomfort that Henry had grown accustomed to whenever he told her something to do with the sea. Henry rushed into his room, found his best clothes, put on his pirate hat, and made sure he looked acceptable in the mirror.

Waves crashed against the shore, and Henry immediately straightened. A boat was approaching, one that was big and unmovable with an ancient curse laid on it. Even several hundred metres away from the sea, Henry could already see the name gracing the boat's crocodile-like bow.

 _The Flying Dutchman_

Not even bothering with breakfast, Henry ran out of the house, hearing his mother shout in alarm and hurry after him. Henry slowed down when he got to the hill rising up before it sloped down to the beach. He didn't bother turning to his mother - she was always slower than him. Bright eyes scanned the ocean, humming the old pirate tune under his breath.

 _Yo ho ho a pirate's life for me_

The Flying Dutchman was even more impressive than he could have ever dreamed, than the pictures could ever hope to show. Even as he heard and then saw his mother join him, wrapping an arm around him, Henry saw a man with a bright smile, eyes just like his, a bandana wrapped around his head and the scent of saltwater sticking to him.

His own smile widened as his mother made her way down to shore, and he made to follow. His mother turned and gave him the slightest shake of the head, and Henry pouted.

"I'll introduce you later." Elizabeth promised, and Henry smiled and nodded, sitting down on the ground.

His mother would call for him. He was sure.


End file.
